


Aftermath

by ancalime8301



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Child Death, Childbirth, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Procedures, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-27
Updated: 2005-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-19 05:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancalime8301/pseuds/ancalime8301
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p><a href="http://lilybaggins.livejournal.com/">lilybaggins</a> had <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/lilybaggins/245932.html">asked for a ficlet</a> in which pregnant Frodo is being examined on one of those tables with stirrups or whatever.</p></blockquote>





	1. Probing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [lilybaggins](http://lilybaggins.livejournal.com/) had [asked for a ficlet](http://www.livejournal.com/users/lilybaggins/245932.html) in which pregnant Frodo is being examined on one of those tables with stirrups or whatever.

It had been over a month since he'd awoken, and a couple weeks since they'd arrived in Minas Tirith. With the availability of more and better food, he found his appetite increasing considerably. So did his waistline. Thus, he was not greatly surprised that Strider . . . er, Aragorn -or The High King of Gondor, if you preferred to be absolutely precise- wanted to take a look at him. To check on the babe and all.

Poor Strider had been the picture of discomfiture when he'd approached Frodo in Ithilien, saying there's something he should know. The Man had looked so uncomfortable on his behalf that Frodo almost didn't have the heart to tell him he'd already known, and for quite some time at that. He was only surprised the poor child had survived the ordeal.

His revelation naturally led to a number of questions from the flabbergasted healer. No, he hadn't known when he volunteered to bear the Ring -he wasn't stupid. (The fact that he suspected the conception occurred after the Council didn't seem vital to reveal to the Man at that point.) No, he didn't realize until after they'd left Rivendell, and he didn't say anything once he did because he knew nothing could be done. (Sam knew, or rather, he figured it out . . . perhaps that explains Sam's insistence on caring for him so.) Aragorn left off his questions, shaking his head at the 'incorrigible hobbit,' and let him go with an admonishment to take care of himself and a warning of a thorough examination to come.

So he was not surprised when Aragorn approached him one afternoon and politely requested his cooperation. He was surprised, however, by the strange-looking table in the small spare room the King led him to. He eyed it as he was handed a robe and instructed to undress, which he did with no little embarrassment. Sure, Aragorn had seen him in various states of undress, but it was different when one's belly is much larger than it had been a short time before, and particularly when one's size was due to an unusual pregnancy. It did not help that the robe had obviously been intended for a child, not a hobbit with child, as it didn't quite meet in the middle (though, at least, it was of a suitable length).

When Aragorn finished scrubbing his hands in the basin on the stand next to the strange contraption, he turned and, seeing Frodo had changed, said, "Up on that table if you would, please."

He complied, but decided it was past time that he be told what's going on. "What is this about, exactly?"

Aragorn smirked. "I said there'd be a more thorough examination; this is it. And I would've done it sooner, but some adjustments had to be made to the stirrups," he said, motioning to the things sticking out from the table at one end (Frodo had sat down well at the other end).

Now that he looked, those things did look like stirrups. But why . . . ? He had a nagging feeling he would soon find out.

"Down here, Frodo," the Man prodded, gesturing to the intimidating end of the table. "First, I want you to just dangle your legs over the edge and lie back."

Frodo moved accordingly -this didn't sound so bad- dangling his feet over the edge between the strange things. As Aragorn poked, prodded, and palpated his abdomen, he wondered when the strangeness would start -this was reasonably normal.

"All right, now slide down the table, a little closer to me."

As he did so, he asked, "Why?"

"So we can get your feet" -he took one furry foot and lifted it- "and put them in the stirrups" -he angled the bent leg upwards and slid the foot into the stirrup- "like so."

"Why?"

"So I" -he grabbed the other foot and lifted- "can get a good look at how things are progressing."

He could get a good look, all right. Frodo felt like his legs were spread wide enough to let the entire city have a good look. He was trussed up like some animal, and his cheeks burned with humiliation. His other cheeks were pressed flat into the frigid surface -his robe had ridden up in the course of the adjustments- and between that and the coldness of the stirrups and the air now circulating freely around his intimate parts, he felt cold and absolutely vulnerable.

And he couldn’t see what Aragorn was doing. At this point, that worried him most of all. Frodo tried to raise himself on his elbows, but the positioning of his legs made it impossible.

Aragorn looked up. "Try to relax, and this shouldn't hurt."

Frodo's snide remark was cut off when a frightfully cold implement was applied to his skin down there, and he felt something stretching the babe opening. He jerked automatically at the coldness, and likely would've kicked a certain King in the head had his feet not been detained. Frodo swore in frustration and Aragorn chuckled. "Take it easy."

"Let's switch places and see if you can take it easy," Frodo snapped back. "What are you doing?!"

"Stretching you a bit so I can slide my hand in and check things on the inside."

"And I suppose you'll immerse your hand in snow just before you do it."

Aragorn laughed. "No, my hand should be warm. Now, while we're waiting, tell me how it is that male hobbits can bear children."

Frodo crossed his arms defiantly -a gesture made comical by his position and the interference of his prominent stomach- and glared at him. "It just happens."

Not allowing the hobbit to bait him so, Aragorn said placidly, "I am unable to help you unless I become more familiar with how this is possible. As you may have noticed, this does not occur among Men." He paused. "Now, when Elrond inquired about the extra passage you possess, you told him it was a family trait. Is this ability to bear children also inherited?" (He didn't see it necessary to remind Frodo that's what the hobbit told him, as well, when the matter . . . came up.)

Frodo sighed heavily. "Yes. The 'extra passage,' as you call it, generally indicates the possessor can bear children. Very old stories tell of several Brandybuck family groups who had many children this way, but . . ." he shrugged. "It doesn't happen much anymore."

Aragorn took advantage of the hobbit's preoccupation and used the implement to sufficiently widen the passage. Sliding his hand in, he continued the conversation to keep Frodo distracted. "Why doesn't it happen anymore?"

"I don't know," he replied irritably. "It is not exactly commonplace for hobbits to speak of such things, especially about having children, and particularly amongst lads!" He gritted his teeth. "What are you doing? Something is pinching."

"I am sorry, I shall be finished soon," Aragorn assured him.

Frodo was almost surprised when he heard Aragorn's chair slide back moments later, followed by the splash of him again washing his hands. He stared morosely at the uninteresting ceiling and wondered when he'd be freed from this appalling contraption.

"Frodo, I need to ask you a few things, and I want you to answer me honestly." Aragorn's voice sounded vaguely . . . curious? uneasy? disturbed? He couldn't quite tell, and he couldn't see the Man to check on his expression.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd prefer to be let down from this . . . thing first. So you're talking to my face and not my rear. And my feet are going numb."

"Of course." Aragorn hastily returned the use of Frodo's legs.

Frodo sighed with relief as he resumed the normal position for one lying on a table. Then, realizing how exposed he remained, he awkwardly sat up and rearranged the small robe to cover as much as possible. Once he felt reasonably presentable, he looked up. "You had questions for me?"

"Yes." Aragorn sat on the table next to Frodo. "How far along do you think you are?"

Frodo's forehead crinkled in concentration as he counted. "Maybe . . . six months? Seven? No more than seven."

Aragorn nodded. "About seven months would be consistent with what I can tell of the babe's development." He shook his head ruefully. "You didn't seem nearly so far along in Ithilien . . . hobbit babes must possess the same facility for recovery as their parents."

Silence cloaked the room for several minutes before Aragorn spoke again. "Be honest, now. Do you know who-"

"No," Frodo's reply was quick and to the point. This was the sort of uncomfortable question he'd been anticipating for some time. "No, I don't know who. I wasn't expecting this to happen, so I wasn't keeping track." His tone was sarcastic and slightly bitter.

Aragorn said nothing, just stared at his clasped hands where they rested in his lap, and thought.

After a few moments of silence, Frodo added defensively, "You can't blame a hobbit for taking pleasure while he can."

"Be at peace, Frodo, I am not judging you. I am merely considering some things," Aragorn quickly assured him.

"Like whether it could be yours," Frodo muttered, and rubbed a spot where the babe had just kicked particularly hard.

Aragorn glanced at him without meeting his eyes. "There is that," he acknowledged, "but that is unlikely, as I believe you spent far more time with the other hobbits than you did with me. But in any case," he rushed on, to head off Frodo's impending rebuttal, "you will need to consider your future with this child, and where you plan to raise it, among other things."

Frodo sighed. "I don't suppose I have an 'I don't want to do this' option."

Aragorn patted his knee. "I'm afraid not. But all of us will help you decide what to do. You don't have to manage this on your own."

Frodo nodded, lost in thought. Should he mention what had been bothering him since Ithilien . . . ?

"If you don't have any questions, we're finished here," Aragorn added at length.

Frodo opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, and repeated this several times before managing to make words come out. "Are you sure . . . are you sure the babe is all right? It's hard to believe it could survive and be well after all that." He sounded as uncertain as he felt, and for a moment he wondered if he should have voiced his doubt (and secret hope).

Aragorn, realizing the gravity of Frodo's concern, answered likewise. "I cannot be entirely certain, no. Some problems would not be evident at this point, but it seems to be going well. The babe is growing quickly, and you are coming along just as would be expected of a female at this stage." He paused, and added, "Once Elrond arrives, it would be wise to have him also examine you. He may be able to probe more deeply into the condition of the babe than I am able."

"Will it require me to be all trussed up and exposed again?" Frodo asked plaintively.

Aragorn smirked. "Possibly. That would be Elrond's decision."

Frodo rolled his eyes. "You know he'll have me up in that thing, even if it's just because I don't want to be." He eyed the floor calculatingly, then shook his head and inched his way along the table to where the chair stood next to it, and let himself down as gracefully as he was able. His clothes were perched on the same chair, and as he picked up his undertrousers, he said, "Don't look."

Aragorn chuckled, and it took Frodo a moment to realize what was funny. He flushed; having just concluded a very intimate examination, it was rather absurd to worry about his modesty.

Frodo dressed quickly, glad to be back in clothes again, but had a bit of trouble getting his trousers tied. The trousers were fairly new, having replaced his usual buttoned breeches when he outgrew them, and he wasn't quite used to the laces. They kept slipping from his fingers.

"Here, let me help," Aragorn offered, crouching in front of Frodo and easily doing up the stubborn ties. "There."

"And if they fall down, you'll be to blame," Frodo teased.

"Minas Tirith should be so lucky," Aragorn countered.

Frodo's jaw dropped in mock horror. "I wonder if the people know what a rascal their new King is," he shot back.

"They would never believe it," was the smug reply.

"Oh? Wouldn't they, if the babe is yours?" Frodo challenged, taking advantage of seeing the Man eye-to-eye to stare him down. Aragorn's expression changed from amused to something he couldn't readily interpret, and he knew his comment had completely killed the banter.

"Don't toy with me, Frodo. Are you certain you do not know who caused this?"

"Yes, I'm certain," he said, exasperated. "I'd love to know myself! But I will find out when the lot of you do, and no amount of prodding will change that."

"I am sorry, Frodo. It would just be easier to know what to tell Arwen when she arrives." He tried to sound contrite, but at the mention of Arwen Frodo stiffened.

"Perhaps you should have thought about that before," he hissed before stalking from the room.

Aragorn hurried to the door and called out after him, but the hobbit did not even pause. The King heaved a sigh; at least he knew better than to try appeasing Frodo when he was in such a mood -he'd have to apologize later.

That sure didn't end well.


	2. Probing

Frodo met the Elves' arrival in Minas Tirith with resignation. He'd been carefully avoiding Aragorn in the weeks since that blasted examination; he didn't care to hear the excuses the Man would invent for his verbal faux pas. That, and he rather enjoyed making the King squirm. So whenever Aragorn asked to speak with him, Frodo sent someone else as the intermediary. Gandalf scolded him for being foolish and stubborn, but he didn't really listen. After all, what did Gandalf know about being pregnant?

When Frodo learned the Elves that arrived were Elrond and a few companions, come ahead of Arwen's company because the King sent word of the Ringbearer's condition, he knew he'd be forced to face Aragorn -and that darn table- sooner rather than later. That night no one disturbed him, but he slept horribly -whether from anxiety or from the heat already settling in for summer, he couldn't tell. When morning came, he was sweaty, ill-tempered, and, as always, uncomfortable. He sought cooler environs as soon as he was dressed.

Thus, Aragorn and Elrond located him some time later, taking a nap in one of the small parlor-type rooms that lay near the center of the building. He was lying on the floor, his head in Sam's lap and his somewhat swollen feet up on a pillow. Sam saw the Big Folk enter, and motioned for them to be quiet. But it was too late; Frodo shifted, blinked, and murmured sleepily, "What is it, Sam?" Then he noticed the looming figures just past his feet. "Oh." He yawned and closed his eyes again. "Go 'way."

"You know we cannot do that, Frodo," Elrond tried to reason with him after several moments. "You are quickly nearing your time, so it is wise to ensure matters are as they should be."

Aragorn remained silent. He hadn't told Elrond that Frodo was upset with him -explaining that would mean he'd have to explain a few other things, and, well, how do you tell the one who raised you and is your soon-to-be father-in-law that you might've knocked up the Ringbearer? That was one conversation Aragorn hoped to never have.

Frodo sighed irritably. "Oh, fine. Can't we do it in here? I'm almost comfortable for a change."

"We will make you as comfortable as possible, but we must move elsewhere to be most effective."

Frodo's eyes narrowed and he muttered something that made Sam stifle a laugh, then he struggled to his feet (with a bit of help from Sam). "All right, fine. Sooner started is sooner finished."

They led him back to the small room with the strange table, which Sam eyed with mistrust. Frodo decided to let Sam stay provided he wasn't looking; once Sam understood the purpose of the table, he was more than happy to just sit himself in the chair for the time being. Again, Frodo had to undress, but this time the robe provided had been altered to actually cover him. This was promising.

So was the small set of steps up to the table. Elrond gestured for him to climb on up, and Frodo found a soft towel padding the hard surface. He sat gratefully, watching Elrond and Aragorn prepare. Elrond brought over a light sheet and directed Frodo to lie down. He eased the hobbit's feet into the stirrups and used the sheet to cover Frodo's exposed parts while preparations were finished.

Well, now, this wasn't so bad. He could almost imagine he wasn't about to be humiliated again. Even when Elrond returned to the table, he spoke soothingly, explaining what he was doing as he felt Frodo's abdomen before moving to matters below. He washed his hands, folded back the sheet, and continued his gentle monologue. Now he was saying he will use a strip of cloth to keep Frodo's genitalia out of the way, draping the cloth over Frodo's thighs and tucking the ends under the hobbit's hips to keep the cloth taut. It felt strange, but did not hurt. Elrond moved on to do what Aragorn had done before, but this time the instrument was warm, and his methodical narration was reassuring and even somewhat lulling.

Frodo watched Aragorn with half-lidded eyes and hoped the Man was taking notes -this was how it should be done. And if he failed to take heed of Elrond's example, well, Frodo wouldn't be surprised if Aragorn's next 'victim' caused him bodily harm. Especially if it were Arwen. Frodo almost snorted aloud at the thought. Oh, yes, Arwen would certainly have something to say about a cold table, cold instruments, and the merciless exposure of sensitive areas.

Caught up in his amused musings, Frodo didn't notice the passage of time and was surprised when Elrond let his feet down and said, "You can sit up now, Frodo." While he dressed, Aragorn and Elrond conferred quietly in Elvish. "Everything is progressing as expected," Elrond said finally. "The babe is doing well for this stage, and I expect the birth will occur in two to four weeks."

"Two weeks?" He blanched. He knew, of course, that giving birth was the natural conclusion to all this, but the thought still unnerved him.

"Do not fret," Elrond assured him. "We will do everything possible to make you comfortable during the process. Your body is already beginning to prepare. It will be fine."

Frodo nodded numbly; he really didn't want to think about that part. "So the babe is all right?" This was what he really wanted to know from Elrond in the first place.

"The babe is doing well. Its body seems slightly small compared to the head, but that is not uncommon when the parent has endured less than ideal nutritional conditions for a period of time. This is usually remedied by rapid growth soon after birth. Until your time comes, be sure to rest and eat sufficiently, and all should progress smoothly."

Frodo wasn't sure if he should be relieved or worried. Ever since he learned of the babe's survival, he doubted he could care for it properly; he wondered if this hollowed-out feeling was just exhaustion or if he'd been irreversibly changed. And without knowing exactly who had assisted in his condition, he would feel guilty leaving the babe in the care of one who may not even be related. Unless . . . "I don't suppose you can tell when this came about?" he ventured.

Elrond glanced askance at him. "It is impossible to determine that with any accuracy, but based on your advancement, it was during the span of the three to four weeks immediately following the Council."

Three or four weeks . . . that didn't narrow it down much. In fact, most of his . . . activity occurred within that time. Frodo sighed. This was getting embarrassing.

~~~~

The next week was a flurry of preparations for the King's wedding. The hobbits were fitted with new suits for the occasion, which Frodo found rather awkward, but he had to admit the result was most satisfactory. The fabrics were light and airy, in consideration of the weather and his increased proclivity to feeling warm, and the waistcoat was cut and fitted so that his roundness wasn't too apparent -to his relief. He didn't want to make a spectacle of himself.

The day finally arrived -Midsummer, which the hobbits thought quite appropriate, being a day of festive celebration in the Shire- and brought mountains of food and rivers of drink. There were speeches and toasts, music and dancing, all of which led up to the grand banquet in the Great Hall. Frodo was pleased that he and the other hobbits were led to a table along the side; he'd be able to slip out for his frequent trips to the privy almost unnoticed. Not to mention they weren't very close to the King, so there wasn't much chance of being drawn into an unwelcome conversation with a certain persistent Ranger.

It was an enjoyable but exhausting day, so Frodo retired before the celebrations had ended, though he insisted the other hobbits remain (there weren't too many protests on that count, for Merry and Pippin had already celebrated quite a bit, if you catch my meaning). He was stiff and sore from sitting for such a length of time, so stretching out in bed felt very nice. He slept soundly through the night for the first time in weeks.

~~~~

Three days later, Arwen herself paid Frodo an unexpected visit while he was lounging in the small study and reading. She seemed to realize he felt awkward being around anyone in his state, and so made it brief, just to 'see how he was faring.' Merry and Pippin teased him about it at supper, but Frodo only blushed and tried to change the subject -his cousins didn't know the half of it.

Later that evening the cramps came back again -he'd had them every so often for weeks- so he tried to ignore them as before. It seemed to work, and he went to bed without thinking about it further.

But the cramp would not forget about him. He awoke partway through the night, in need of the chamber pot. As he finished his business, the cramp returned, a little more insistent than before. For many long minutes after it receded, he lay awake and waited to see if another would follow soon after. Nothing further happened, so he drifted back to sleep.

Several hours later, the scenario repeated itself, and again a little while after that. By the fourth time he awoke, Frodo wondered if perhaps he was dismissing these cramps too carelessly. But invariably he would fall asleep waiting for something else to happen.

That is, until dawn began to break. He'd been wakened again as the sky outside his window began to lighten. More pain closely following the first bit startled him, and he sat up, wide-eyed. Was it time? At the very least, he didn't think he'd be able to sleep any more. But he didn't want to disturb anyone without being more certain . . . so he lay back down to wait and see.

An hour passed, and he realized how lonely it was in this big room without his cousins and Sam. They used to all share the bed -they were now accustomed to sleeping in close proximity to each other- but after a while that arrangement was too hot and crowded for Frodo to sleep properly, and he would unintentionally rouse them when he woke in the night, so he'd kicked them out.

They were now in the next room, and he briefly considered waking someone to keep him company. But he rejected that idea; waking one would wake them all, and they'd likely overreact -well, Sam would, anyway- and send directly for Aragorn or Elrond, which he didn't think necessary just yet. So Frodo curled up on his side, stared out the small window, and waited.


	3. Progressing

It was nearly time for second breakfast before Sam, Merry, and Pippin decided to check on Frodo. He normally made an appearance by then, but when he slept badly or very well, he'd often remain in bed until elevenses, so they didn't want to disturb him too early. Sam was elected to go -he had the most luck getting Frodo out of his tempers- and Merry and Pippin went to get food from the kitchen.

Frodo was holding his breath through a pain when the door opened and made him lose his concentration. He answered the quiet "Mr. Frodo?" with a terse "What?"

Sam didn't falter. "Are you all right?"

The pain had eased, and Frodo opened his eyes to see Sam peering at him over the edge of the bed. He sat up as he reassured Sam, "I'm fine, just having some of those cramps again."

Sam's eyebrows rose. "Do you think it's Time?"

Frodo shrugged. "I don't know. They're not too bad."

Sam considered for a moment. "Have you had the wetness? Lasses always say that's the sign it's time."

"I'm not a lass. I don't know if it will be like that for me. But no, I haven't."

Sam nodded. "Will you be wanting breakfast, then? Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin went to get it. I can have them bring it in here."

Frodo nodded reluctantly. "All right," he conceded, though he wasn't really hungry. He was quiet throughout the meal, and only picked at his food.

Sam was about to prod him to eat just a bit more when there was a knock at the door and a voice said, "Frodo? I need to speak with you." Aragorn. Frodo's eyes widened, and he immediately headed for the side of the bed opposite the door. "I'm not here," he hissed as he disappeared over the edge.

Sam answered the knock. "He's not here, sir," he informed the King as he opened the large door enough for Aragorn to see Frodo wasn't in his bed. "He just left to go to the privy."

"Really? I came from that direction and didn't see him."

Sam began to blush, but held his ground. "Perhaps he went a different way."

"Indeed," Aragorn replied absently, then changed the subject. "Sam, can you tell me why Frodo is avoiding me?"

Sam shrugged. "He's upset about something, but he won't say what."

"I said something I shouldn't have," the Man admitted bluntly, and looked for a way to get past the gardener. "And I'd like to apologize, but your master refuses to see me."

Frodo listened to the conversation with interest, but at this point another painful cramp set in and he turned his concentration to not crying out. He held his breath and prepared to wait it out. When his vision began to grow hazy and it seemed the torment would never end, he dimly felt wetness between his legs, soaking into his nightshirt.

'Either I just wet myself, or Sam was right,' he thought wryly. And if Sam was right, well, there'd be no getting out of this until it was good and over. It would be a good bit of trivia for Bilbo, at least -if he ever saw him again. For while Bilbo knew of his . . . unusual capability, his guardian didn't tell him anything of how it worked. He probably didn't know, himself. And Frodo was really beginning to wish he hadn't found out.

He opened his eyes -when had he closed them?- to find Sam, Merry, and Pippin crowded around him anxiously. "I think you were right, Sam," he said breathlessly. Once he got his breath back a bit, he asked worriedly, "Is he gone?"

There was a chuckle from somewhere on the other side of the bed. "No, Frodo, I'm still here, and will remain until I speak with you."

If looks could kill, there would have been three lifeless hobbits on the floor. "You let him in?!"

"He wouldn't leave," Sam said miserably. "Said he'd been watching the door and knew you hadn't left."

Frodo took a few deep breaths and tried not to sound annoyed. "I'm listening, Aragorn," he called over the bed.

"I'd prefer to speak face-to-face."

"I'm not dressed," Frodo retorted.

"That shouldn't matter, since I've seen you in just your skin, my dear hobbit, and not only for examinations."

"You bedded the *King*?!" Merry whispered incredulously.

"He wasn't the King then," Frodo shot back, burying his face in his hands. After a few moments he composed himself, straightened himself as much as possible, and said calmly, "All right, Aragorn. You may come 'round."

Aragorn appeared and sat facing Frodo. "I simply wanted to apologize for my comment. I did not think before I spoke. Will you condescend to forgive me?"

Frodo sighed. "It is forgiven," he said shortly. "Now will you please allow me to eat and dress in peace?" He could feel what might be another cramp coming on, and he didn't want the Man there to see it.

Aragorn nodded. "At least allow me to help you stand. I am sure sitting on the floor this long has made you stiff." The healer could sense an anxiety about Frodo's manner and wished to discover the cause.

Frodo shook his head. "I will be fine, thank you." He shifted, as if preparing to stand, but the motion seemed to draw the Man's eye to the dampness near his hips.

"Are you certain you are all right?"

"I seem to have sprung a leak," Frodo said dismissively, but any other speech was cut off by a building cramp. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, clenching his hands into fists to fight the pain.

As soon as he saw the hobbit tense, Aragorn realized the situation and reached to place a hand on Frodo's stomach. A fairly strong tension rippled beneath his fingers. "One of you get a towel, please," he commanded, watching the hobbit's frozen face for any sign the pain neared its end.

At last, Frodo began breathing again. "Frodo, you must breathe through the spasms. Now, how long have you been having the pains?"

Frodo drew a ragged breath. "Since last evening, but they have not always been this regular or this strong."

"Last night? Frodo, why didn't you tell anyone?" Frodo didn't reply. "You could have started giving birth in the middle of the night with none to help you!" Aragorn couldn't help but shudder at the thought. Pippin handed him a towel. "I want you to slide this under you for the fluid, then lie back so I can see how far you've progressed already." Frodo looked genuinely upset at his rebuke, so he gently cupped the hobbit's face in his hands. "Everything will be fine," he reassured him. "I'm here to help you."

Frodo nodded, and in a few moments he was lying flat on the floor while Aragorn 'took a peek' -something that didn't seem to use one's eyes at all and instead involved putting his fingers where Frodo wished he wouldn't put them. "You're definitely starting to come along," Aragorn said as he pulled the nightshirt back over the raised knees. "But it's not nearly far enough yet."

He helped Frodo sit up. "You'll probably be most comfortable in bed at this point. I know it is painful for you, but it's a necessary part of the process," he explained, then added, "And when it's over, you will have a babe to show for your efforts."

"And it will all be over?" Frodo asked hopefully.

"This part, at least. Your life with the babe is just beginning."

Easier said than done. Elevenses, luncheon, and afternoon tea slowly crawled by with no appreciable progress from Frodo's point of view. Except that he was more tired, more crabby, and more uncomfortable than he was earlier. Aragorn assured him the pain was accomplishing something, and began to explain just how it worked, but Frodo didn't really want to know, and quickly put an end to that topic of conversation.

Elrond had been called several hours ago, and he also reassured Frodo that this lengthy experience was common with firstborn children. Frodo glared at him and told him to keep such information to himself unless it could somehow be useful. So Elrond suggested he might want to try walking around a bit, to see if gravity and movement couldn't help things along.

Frodo was more than willing to try it, if it would get things over faster. The other hobbits followed close behind as Frodo meandered around the room, and often got in the way of Frodo's random wanderings, until he grew frustrated and demanded they stop following him immediately. Sam was the first to comply -he remembered the time in Ithilien when Frodo got so upset over something that he nigh on swooned, and while Sam wasn't sure it could happen again, he didn't want it to- and he convinced the Merry and Pippin to do so, as well.

But then Frodo staggered as he was gripped by another spasm, and might've fallen had Merry not been near enough to help him sit down. So they agreed one of them would be with Frodo at all times, and alternate their efforts. They didn't include Lord Elrond and Aragorn in their rotation -the Big Folk had other things to do, and the hobbits didn't trust their ability to react quickly if the need arose.


	4. Pushing

Over time the pains had less time between them and it took longer for Frodo to recover from the exertion and get up again. Merry and Pippin had been sent to fetch supper -when dinner had passed, Frodo wasn't sure- when a particularly strong cramp gripped him. Frodo fell to his knees, vaguely aware of Sam hovering nearby, and was fighting to not pass out from the intense pain when a new feeling surfaced. He lurched forward, catching himself with his hands, and threw up.

Sam was startled by the abrupt viciousness of the bout, and wasn't sure how to help Frodo best. When his master began to retch, hunched on hands and knees, he crouched beside him and rubbed his back reassuringly. Frodo was shaking alarmingly, his arms trembling under his weight, and Sam hoped he wouldn't collapse -he didn't think he could catch him properly.

Then Aragorn appeared on the other side of Frodo, just in time to intervene as the hobbit's elbows buckled. Aragorn helped Frodo sit back up, and let him rest against him as he patted his glistening face with a towel and wiped away all traces of his retching. When the pain eased and Frodo became fully aware again, Aragorn asked him, "Do you want to get up again?"

Frodo shook his head miserably, still shaking uncontrollably. "I can't do this," he whispered miserably.

"You can," Aragorn stated matter-of-factly. "You're getting to the most difficult part right now. And there's no shame in expressing the pain you're feeling -it's quite normal, and sometimes crying out makes it easier to bear. Don't feel you must hide it." Frodo didn't answer, but then, he hadn't expected him to. "Now, let's get you a bit more comfortable. Sam, would you get a blanket from the bed? And then sit down by the foot of the bed -against one of the legs, if you would."

Sam obeyed and sat cross-legged in front of the footboard; Aragorn gently picked Frodo up and put him down on Sam's lap with the blanket tucked around him. Frodo's eyes were closed the entire time, taking what rest he could in spite of the shaking chill he felt.

"Does that feel better?" Aragorn asked once Frodo was settled against Sam. Frodo nodded briefly, then tensed as the pain began again. He remained stoically silent, aside from a small whimper at the onset. After it receded, Aragorn checked the progress of the widening, as he had periodically for the past several hours, but this time he asked Elrond to check also.

By the time the elf lord had washed his hands -both Elrond and Aragorn had been doing that constantly, which made Frodo wonder if they had developed some hand-washing fetish- and crouched down by the hobbit, another pain was beginning. Frodo expected him to wait until it was over to conduct the by-now familiar ordeal of putting fingers where he didn't like them, but the healer didn't delay, and Frodo was confronted with a new and uncomfortable experience -not that the previous way of things was comfortable, by any means. Elrond's hand didn't withdraw one bit during the cramp -why did they always get ten times worse whenever he thought he couldn't possibly endure any more pain?- and instead prodded and probed the entire time.

When the agony was finally over -this time, anyway- the hand finally withdrew. Frodo debated between complaining or sagging back against Sam to catch a few moments' rest; resting won out, only because he was already so tired, and Sam made a rather good pillow if you were positioned just right.

He was startled from his daze by someone patting his knee. "When the next pain comes, you need to start pushing," Aragorn informed him.

Frodo eyed him with doubt. "Push? But I'm so tired . . ."

"We know, but this won't end until you do."

Frodo sighed. "Easy for you to say," he grumbled. Further protests were cut off by the appearance of Merry and Pippin bearing a bowl and a mug. They sat on either side of Sam and carefully helped Frodo drink. The tea was warm and soothing, and while the stuff in the bowl wasn't identifiable -it seemed a cross between soup and pudding, really- it wasn't terrible and he felt slightly stronger after having some.

Naturally, since his body sensed he was beginning to relax a bit, the next cramp came sooner than he expected and caught him off-guard. Aragorn instantly materialized before him and coaxed, "All right, Frodo. You need to push as you feel your muscles tightening."

He tried to do so, but the pain steadily increased and he broke off, panting. "I can't . . ."

The spasm stopped as suddenly as it began; Frodo took a deep breath and tried to prepare himself for the next one.

"You did well. It will get easier -you'll have the urge to push during the pain; work with it, and pushing will be less difficult."

"How would you know?" Frodo muttered under his breath. The next cramp came, and Frodo was pleasantly surprised to notice it was as Aragorn had said -now the tightening seemed to resolve itself into one overriding command to push; it was tiring, but manageable.

At least, it was, until at least half a dozen spasms had passed without anything changing. How long could this possibly take? "Nothing's happening," he groused at last.

Aragorn chuckled. "Patience, my dear hobbit. These things take time. Nevertheless, I can find out how things fare, if you like."

Frodo sighed aggrievedly. "If you insist," he said, waving a hand dismissively.

Aragorn was washed and probing when the next cramp arrived. "Frodo, bear down harder," he instructed.

Frodo had been pushing, but if he wanted harder . . . he tried harder, tensing his entire body in the effort. He felt his foot beginning to slip, but couldn't react due to his concentration elsewhere, and he felt his foot connect with something as it slid out from where he'd planted it.

Aragorn sat up, rubbing his shoulder. "I didn't mean for you to bear down on me," he chided teasingly.

Frodo stuck his tongue out at the Man. "Your fault for being down there," he retorted.

"True. But to make sure it doesn't happen again . . ." he trailed off as he considered. He prodded Frodo's legs back into position, bent at the knee and spread enough to easily see and reach the necessary areas. "Merry, Pippin, would you come here?" He directed the cousins to each take one of Frodo's legs and hold it in place.

Under any other circumstances, Frodo would have been uncomfortable with his cousins sitting on his feet to keep his legs spread wide so all and sundry could see everything while he used poor Sam as a chair, but in this instance he didn't really care. Especially when the pains returned.

He pushed hard as Aragorn had told him before, and found it worked better when someone else was holding his legs in place. He paused mid-push for a gulp of air -funny how breathing was the most important thing despite the amount of pain you're in- and noticed Elrond headed for the door. He heard voices raised in inquiry and Elrond's calm reply, but he couldn't decipher words over the pounding of his heart as he strained. Elrond returned just as the pain ceased. "Who...? What...?" panted Frodo as he gestured toward the door.

"Some of your companions inquiring how you are faring. They wanted to see you, but I deemed that unwise."

Frodo thought about what they would've seen -towels on the floor under where his rear hung a bit off Sam's lap, him splayed out in the middle of a knot of hobbits, damp all over with sweat and smelling accordingly- and he was supremely grateful for Elrond's courtesy.

Elrond continued, "They are growing anxious because it is 'taking so long.'" He sounded vaguely amused by this.

"Why? What is the time?" Frodo asked worriedly.

"It is now about nine in the evening," Elrond replied.

Nine o'clock? How had it gotten so late? How long had he been doing this? Since before breakfast, at least . . . his limbs felt leaden just thinking about it.

At least his body didn't give him much time to think. This time as he pushed, something felt slightly different. It puzzled him until he realized he could feel something moving with his efforts -something hard and round and it was stretching his passage as it slowly ventured from its sheltered hollow.

"I feel it coming," he murmured, and with that admission, he felt the reality of his situation come crashing down on his head. Until now, he could pretend that the babe wasn't really there, that his negligence hadn't brought an innocent life into being, that he wouldn't have to deal with this for the rest of his life, just like so many other things that happened in the past year. But now- now it was undeniably real, and he wasn't sure he could cope. He felt light-headed.

Gradually he became aware he was being spoken to. "Frodo? Stay with me."

He blinked and met Aragorn's concerned gaze. "Sorry. I was . . . thinking."

Aragorn smiled briefly. "Try to keep your mind in the here and now, please. It will help things go smoothly. Now, you said you could feel the babe coming?"

Frodo nodded. "Only a little. It just started this time around."

"Good. Just relax and let it come, but tell me immediately if you feel any sharp or different pains."

The words were lost on Frodo as another cramp came. He concentrated his efforts to make the hard thing move, even if only a little. It did seem to descend a bit further, but he wasn't sure. The next several spasms followed in kind, and through it all Frodo was never sure if it was actually moving, or if he was just fooling himself. He voiced his concern during a lull, so Aragorn accommodatingly palpated his abdomen to check the babe's position before going at it the other way.

"You're doing fine," Aragorn assured him after a few moments of careful probing.

Frodo nodded uncertainly, then buckled down for another round. Of course, this time the babe moved substantially, and Aragorn, feeling the progress, broke into a smile. "Good, very good."

Mercifully, the next cramp was equally productive, though a new problem presented itself at the same time. "Um, Aragorn? I think I need the chamber pot," Frodo said quietly, blushing.

Aragorn was immediately attentive. "The usual?" (Having been waiting for so long, they'd already developed a system to take care of the inevitable urinary issues.)

Frodo shook his head. "The other," he said meekly, then grimaced as another pain began.

"Don't let it trouble you, Frodo. That's perfectly natural at this stage. Just let it out and we can clean it up. That's partly what the towels are for."

Frodo wasn't comfortable with that, but what else could he really do? Trying to stop it certainly wasn't an option. So he pushed as usual, and he had to admit he felt a bit better afterward. Having his bottom cleaned for him was -as it always is- humiliating, especially with Merry and Pippin watching with such pity on their faces, and briefly Frodo wished he could command them not to watch certain parts of the process. But they're there to help, so it wasn't up to him to decide such things -rather, it was up to Aragorn.

And right now, what Merry and Pippin did seemed to be the farthest thing from the Man's mind -he was again assessing the babe's advancement. "One or two more pushes, and we'll begin to see the fruit of your labor, Frodo," he said with satisfaction.

Frodo rolled his eyes. "Was that supposed to be funny?" But he didn't care to hear the answer as he was once again engaged in his "labor." It seemed more difficult now -why was a task always hardest near its end? By the time the pain relented, Frodo was gasping for breath and he could tell his face was flushed with exertion. His entire being felt worn-out and sore. He sagged limply against Sam and wished for it to be over quickly. He couldn't take much more.

Then Aragorn was speaking to him again. "The babe should reach your opening this time. It will likely be more difficult to push it past that barrier than at any point thus far, but I will be easing the way so you don't tear anything," he said, rubbing Frodo's knee in reassurance. "Once the head is out, it's much easier from there."

"Easier is good," Frodo panted as another spasm gripped him. It felt, at first, how he'd come to expect, but then it changed and he had to work much harder. Like the difference between stirring broth and stirring nearly-ready bread dough -it takes a lot more effort for the same result. So he pushed as hard as he could, gritting his teeth, and fervently wished it would be over soon.

"We can see the top of the head," Aragorn said triumphantly. "Just a bit more now, Frodo. You can do this."

Frodo didn't waste energy to reply, and was startled when Pippin asked a little uncertainly, "Is that normal?"

"Yes, some blood is perfectly normal," Aragorn assured him, speaking so Frodo could hear and understand as well.

But Frodo didn't care. He already felt like he was dying, so what did a bit of blood matter? Then the pain ended and he slumped against Sam again, breathing heavily. Sam brushed the curls off his face and murmured reassuringly -Frodo had no idea what he was saying, but the words washing over him did have a calming effect. Aragorn was still massaging the opening and speaking to Elrond as he did so. Frodo watched them converse through slitted eyes as he tried not to think about his exhaustion.

Any thought of sleep and rest vanished when the pain began anew. His effort didn't seem to be to much avail, for not much seemed to happen.

Aragorn pulled Frodo's hand down to feel the head perched in the opening; it was warm and slippery, and he could just feel the bits of hair underneath whatever mucous covered it. It was a strange sensation, to be sure, and he was still trying to decide what he thought of it when the pain resumed for what would be the last time.


	5. Parting

Aragorn watched closely, in case intervention was needed to allow the head to pass through; Elrond stood ready with the necessary implements for if that was the case. They turned out to be unneeded -hobbits, it seemed, were a most flexible and adaptable kind- so Elrond put the tools aside and instead offered forth a warm towel. As soon as the entire head appeared, Aragorn had Frodo halt a moment to ensure the cord was not wrapped around the babe's neck, then allowed him to continue. The shoulders followed quickly after, and within moments the babe was ensconced in Elrond's towel. "It is a boy," the elven lord announced before setting to entice the child to breathe.

Aragorn said, "Frodo, you're almost finished. There are some tissues that must be expelled, so you'll have some minor cramps shortly."

Frodo disregarded this. "Can I see him?" he asked anxiously, suddenly feeling quite awake.

"In a few moments. We must be sure he is in good condition."

Merry and Pippin watched Lord Elrond doubtfully. "He looks rather blue," Merry noted.

"Why isn't he crying?" Pippin wanted to know.

Sam was also concerned, but did not voice his doubts for fear of further troubling Frodo, who he could feel was already trembling. They all knew that when a hobbit babe was born, a lusty wail announced the arrival to the household, and only then were congratulations offered and celebrations begun. As long as there was no cry, those not in the birthing room waited anxiously for any news, good or ill. And to wait this long without even a peep from the babe, well, it weren't encouraging.

Frodo tensed once more as a milder cramp seized him. Merry and Pippin watched with mingled fascination and disgust as the birthing tissues appeared and were gathered into a covered basin by Aragorn. When it passed, Aragorn soothed Frodo, telling him it was all finally over.

At last, a weak, mewling cry emerged from the tiny bundle over which Elrond was ungracefully hunched. Frodo sat up a little straighter against Sam and demanded, "Let me see him!"

This time Elrond acquiesced. "You may hold him, but I am deeply grieved to inform you he will likely not survive long. He appears unable to breathe properly, which is beyond any skill to heal."

Frodo received the news with passive acceptance, more intent on drinking in the sight of his babe -his son. He gently touched the light fuzz on the head before tracing the miniature features with a fingertip. The babe placidly regarded him with the dark blue eyes of a newborn, though the serene expression was marred by his fruitless gasping for air like a fish out of water. He was beautiful, from the pointed tips of his tiny ears to his slightly furred feet. Frodo kissed his wee forehead, a greeting and a farewell to the only child he would likely ever have. "Was it anything I did?" he asked hoarsely, needing to know the cause of his innocent babe's suffering.

"No! Of course not," Aragorn quickly replied before Elrond could speak. "Such things happen from time to time. It is not your doing."

"That's good," Frodo said wearily. He handed the babe over to Aragorn -he would've liked to hold him longer, but he was just so tired, all strength draining from him like ale from a cracked cask. "I think I need to sleep," he murmured, then he was utterly empty and knew no more.

~~~~

Awareness seeped back slowly, one impression at a time. He was comfortably warm, and lying on something soft and supportive in all the right places. Gradually his mind was again anchored to his body, and he moved his fingers and toes experimentally. They obeyed, but sluggishly; he probably shouldn't try to do anything too quickly. If, that is, he ever felt it necessary to move, which certainly wasn't high in his priorities at the moment.

There was movement, and a weight shifting close beside him made his body cant slightly in that direction. Then he felt a hand on his forehead, brushing back his hair, and he heard soft murmuring, though he didn't understand the words. He concentrated on resolving the sounds into words, but the murmuring stopped before he achieved understanding.

So he cracked open his eyes a tiny bit. The sunlight streaming in the window was greatly slanted; it must be either early morning or late afternoon. Opening his eyes a bit more, he decided it must be late afternoon based on the deep orange coloring of the light. Once adjusted to the brightness, he fully opened his eyes and found it was Aragorn seated next to him on the bed.

"Finally decided to wake up after your long nap?" the Man teased.

Frodo blinked at him dazedly. "Long nap?"

"You've been sleeping for a week."

"A week?" he gasped, trying to grasp the idea.

"I helped things along, but you did need the rest to start healing."

"Yes, but . . . " he trailed off. "The babe . . . is he . . . ?"

"He lived longer than expected, but passed on at dawn that same night."

Frodo nodded. "I understand," he whispered.

"We did not know what you wanted done for him, so he was embalmed and is laid in the next room." Aragorn paused. "I am very sorry, Frodo," he added, taking the hobbit's hand and holding it reassuringly between his palms.

"Don't be," Frodo answered. "It is better this way. He will not have to endure having me for a parent," he chuckled bitterly, self-deprecatingly.

"Frodo, no. I am certain you would have been an excellent father," Aragorn replied earnestly.

Frodo closed his eyes. "I suppose we'll never find out, now will we?"

Aragorn had no fitting response, so he let the comment go without answer. "How are you feeling?"

Frodo shrugged. "Comfortable for the moment. Maybe a bit hungry. Still somewhat tired."

"Merry went to fetch your dinner right before you awoke, so it should be here shortly. You're tired because you still have some healing to do, and you will remain easily wearied for several weeks yet. The healing sleep does not remedy everything, and I hesitated to keep you asleep for too long. And Frodo . . . " he hesitated. "Are you yet upset with me? I am reluctant to believe your earlier excusal, considering the circumstances."

Frodo looked at him quizzically, then seemed to understand. "No, no, it's all right. You're forgiven. I was . . . not myself, so I took enjoyment from making you uncomfortable." He frowned. "If anything, I should ask your pardon for my abominable behavior."

Aragorn laughed. "No offense was taken, I assure you. I am quite aware of the behavioral changes exhibited during pregnancy, so such conduct was not unexpected."

Frodo gaped at him. "Why didn't you tell me I would behave so? At times I thought I was going mad!" He crossed his arms and glared. "Now I'm really annoyed with you, Aragorn."

The King tried not to smile at the sight of the peeved, disheveled hobbit scowling at him, though he had to allow that Frodo had a valid point. "I am sorry, I thought you would realize the origin of such behavior."

Frodo smiled wanly. "Not after fighting the will of another for so long," he remarked quietly. "You mustn't think that others will understand what you know when they have not your experience," he chided. "But no matter. It is over and done, and- is that dinner?" he asked as he saw the room's door open.

Aragorn moved quickly to hold open the door, then take the tray from Merry, who promptly jumped on the bed to embrace his cousin, overjoyed to see him awake. But Frodo didn't allow himself to be distracted for long. He tried to sit up, but froze midway. "Ow." Aragorn, having just put the food tray on the table next to the bed, was close enough to help Frodo sit up against the headboard. "Why am I so stiff and sore?" Frodo groused.

"You have been abed for a week. Stiffness is natural."

"So I must recover from being in bed to recover?" he asked cynically.

Aragorn considered for a moment. "Yes." He moved the tray to Frodo's lap. "I'm afraid you have a liquid meal; if we'd known you were going to wake, I would have had the kitchen include something a bit more substantial." He turned to Merry. "Make sure he has enough." And to Frodo, "Don't over-tire yourself. You have been through much in past months." Then, with a brief kiss to Frodo's forehead, he was gone.

Frodo lost no time in sipping at his broth and tea while Merry regaled him with stories of the past week. He finished the bowl off and was sipping at the remains of the tea when Merry, picking nervously at the quilt and not quite looking directly at Frodo, asked, "Just how many beds did you warm in Rivendell, Frodo?"

Frodo nearly choked on the tea dregs. "Why do you ask?" he inquired cautiously, putting the cup on the tray and shoving the tray toward the foot of the bed.

"Because we've overheard some strange things in the last week," he confessed. "One of us has always been near the babe, and people have been talking as they pay their respects."

"What have they been saying?" He was genuinely curious now.

"Legolas and Gimli were endlessly saying how different an elf or dwarf babe would look" -Frodo hoped he wasn't blushing- "and I heard Arwen ask Elrond how it would be possible to tell if the babe was half-elven. He gave her a funny look; I couldn't hear what he said. After he left, she stayed for a long time, just staring at the babe."

Ah, Arwen . . . she was curved differently than a hobbit lass, but what pleasing curves they were . . . soft, creamy skin . . . warm lips . . . and a hobbit could lose himself in her bosom . . . His cousin pulled him from his dreamy reverie. "You bedded the Queen?!" Merry all but squeaked.

Frodo blushed. "She came to me," he said defensively, but didn't add that she wasn't the only child of Elrond with whom he'd spent time. (He'd learned that two could definitely be better than one, and he almost moaned aloud at the memory.) Nor were they the only members of Rivendell's foremost family to attract his attention. (Those healing fingers were skilled, indeed.)

Merry looked vaguely appalled. "And Legolas and Gimli?" he asked. "No, wait, I don't want to know."

Frodo shrugged. He couldn't deny what was true, but if Merry wasn't going to ask, he wasn't going to tell.

Merry sat in silence, shaking his head in disbelief at the actions of quiet, bookish, unassuming Frodo. "It's a wonder you got any sleep, cousin," he said wryly. "Especially since I doubt I've guessed them all." He laughed. "And no one ever guessed what you were up to! Nicely done."

Frodo merely grinned, then yawned. "So where are Sam and Pip?" he asked as he eased himself back down upon his pillows.

"Pippin is on duty -Aragorn's been keeping him busy so he didn't disturb you too much. Sam is next door," he motioned vaguely toward the room previously indicated as where the babe was laid. "They'll be in here a little later, but we won't wake you if you're sleeping."

Frodo nodded drowsily. "You staying here?"

"Yes, I'm staying right here," Merry assured him, helping him arrange the covers just right. "Sleep well, Frodo," he added softly.

Frodo closed his eyes and briefly considered curling up on his side, but decided it would require too much effort. He was asleep before he could finish wondering if it was possible to sleep again so soon.

~~~

To the delight of all, Frodo was soon up and about, and though he had to take it easy for a while, he seemed to suffer no lingering ill effects of the lengthy labor. A week after he woke from his "nap," Frodo paid his first and final visit to his babe. He hadn't wanted to, but Aragorn and the other hobbits strongly urged him, since the child was soon to be buried. Even so, Frodo put it off until the day of the burial, when he could wait no longer.

Frodo accompanied Aragorn when the Man brought in a box for the burial. Aragorn lifted the babe -Frodo noted the small shirt he was dressed in was far too large- then paused a moment. "Did you want to hold him, Frodo?"

Frodo shook his head. "No. I would prefer to remember holding him alive."

"Of course." He gently laid the babe onto the folded blanket in the wooden box.

Frodo had thought at first sight that the box was too small, but now it seemed even a bit too large. When everything was arranged to Aragorn's satisfaction, he propelled Frodo forward with a slight push and stepped back to give the hobbit some room.

'He just looks asleep,' was Frodo's first thought. He did look a little different now -a little cleaner, for one thing. His darkish brown hair was dry now and visibly curly, and his skin wasn't nearly so red as when Frodo saw him the first time. To Frodo, he looked like a normal hobbit babe, but he suspected it was still possible the other parent wasn't a hobbit. He just couldn't tell.

Frodo turned away and left the room without a word.

It was to be a small event, attended only by the remaining Fellowship, the Queen, and Faramir and Eowyn. Frodo didn't want a gaggle of onlookers gaping. They all ended up out in the courtyard, though Frodo would never remember how he got there. The King himself carried the tiny box and, with all due ceremony, laid it in the small hole already dug near the roots of the thriving White Tree. As the hole was filled in, Frodo was suddenly taken back to his parents' burial -was he never to have a family? His heart ached, and he longed even more for Bilbo.

There was food afterward (in the style of hobbit get-togethers), but Frodo found he couldn't get much past the inexplicable lump in his throat. Gandalf watched him keenly, as did Aragorn, but he was saved from any of their interference (or at least, well-meaning attempts to 'comfort' him when he wasn't even upset) by a large yawn and a sudden desire to take a nap. He was hurried off to bed -for once, he did not resist- and was soon gloriously alone, something he'd have enjoyed more if he weren't so tired.

The following days and weeks passed uneventfully, but for the increasing yearning for home felt by all of the hobbits. Frodo finally went to Aragorn to express their desire to leave for the Shire. He found the King with the Queen by the White Tree, and they greeted him with pleasure. His eyes were repeatedly drawn to the small patch of tender, new-grown grass at the roots of the tree, despite efforts to concentrate on his errand. Leaving in a week . . . yes, that would do . . .

Arwen finally caught his attention. "Frodo," she spoke softly and gently. "Do not marvel that you lament the one you lost, for it is no small matter to lose a child. Though you did not expect to mourn him, it is a grief you will carry in your heart, and to ignore or restrain that will do you ill." She paused, then spoke more strongly. "A gift I will give you. I have made my choice, but in my stead you may go, when the time comes and if you desire it. If your hurts grieve you still and the memory of your burden -and your loss- is heavy, then you may pass into the West, until all your wounds and weariness are healed." She took off her gem and set the chain about Frodo's neck. "Remember us, and remember the one you leave behind."

~~~~

Frodo stood before the White Tree in early morning, the day of their departure. He gazed up into the spreading, flowering branches, then his eyes followed a few blossoms as they drifted down to light on the patch of thick, soft grass that was his babe's sole legacy. He grasped Arwen's gem and closed his eyes, bowing his head and remembering for a few moments. When he raised his head, he released the gem and squared his shoulders. He turned, and began to walk away, but stopped abruptly as he was hit with the realization he would not return here. The other three, yes, they would be in Minas Tirith again, but he would not. He could not see what would become of him, yet that did not worry him. He somehow knew all would be right, eventually. And that was enough.

Frodo left the courtyard with steady, deliberate steps and never looked back.


End file.
